


Slide Over Here (Give Me a Moment)

by phdmama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Antique Dildos, Art Appraiser Draco, Blow Jobs, First Time, Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, M/M, PWP, Private Security Harry, Really more like acquaintances to lovers, Vermont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: Two men. One bed. A power outage. What will happen?





	Slide Over Here (Give Me a Moment)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a way to get myself through some writer's block on some longer pieces that keep insisting on Having A Lot of Feelings and that's just not where I'm at right now. This is 100% a cliched trope fic, and I had fun writing it, but adjust expectations accordingly. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my darling [Nic](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/) for the beta read!
> 
> I own none of these characters, I'm just playing in the sandbox. This is a work of fiction, meant only to entertain. 
> 
> As always, the words, as well as the errors, are mine.

As they make their way into the rustic-looking motel, Harry nudges Draco, who looks at him askance and raises one eyebrow.

“Just… let me do the talking, okay?”

Draco shrugs, and holds the door open, allowing Harry to pass in front of him. It’s been a decade since the war, and while they’re not friends exactly, they’re certainly not enemies anymore. It had taken a few years, some difficult conversations, and more firewhiskey than recommended by leading healthcare professionals, but they’re now at a place where they work together perfectly cordially, and as their social circles have merged in some very weird and unexpected ways, they’re regularly in each other’s presence.

Harry knows Draco doesn’t believe any of the pureblood crap any more, but it’s not like Draco seeks out muggles on the regular. And now, not only are they currently deep in muggle territory, they’re in America. After the war, Harry had made a honest go of becoming an Auror, but it turned out that he “had problems with authority” and “impulse-control issues” and “wasn’t a good fit for the department, sorry, Harry.” He’d ended up working in private security, which gives him a lot of freedom and flexibility, and some very interesting jobs.

For example, this one. He is currently in rural Vermont, a place he’d never even really heard of, on behalf of an eccentric and wealthy collector (his favorite kind) of antique sex toys. Mr. Handelman was homebound due to some undisclosed Unfortunate Circumstances, and had retained Harry to travel with his appraiser, to meet another reclusive and eccentric collector who is interested in trading one of his classic pewter dildos for one of Mr. Handelman’s ancient Chinese bronze dongs. The appraiser, who is apparently _the_ expert in historical sexual artifacts, happens to be Draco Malfoy.

Harry is exhausted. They’d taken an international portkey to Boston, then driven the four hours north to this small town. And by they, he means, _he_ had driven, because Draco had claimed that he couldn’t drive, and had spent the entire four hours clutching the grab handle above the door and inhaling dramatically every time Harry had gotten a little too close to the car in front. It had been tiring.

Their plan is to check in to the local motel, go out for dinner, have an early night, and head out to Fred Willette’s farm in the afternoon. Draco has estimated he’ll need about three-four hours with the artifact, as he’s called it, to run some tests and authenticate its origins. They’ll be spending another night here in Greensboro, and then they’ll go back to Boston for their portkey home on Saturday. It’s not a complicated trip, and basically, for Harry, it’s easy money. He’s promised Mr. Handelman that he will stick with Draco the entire time, because Mr. Handelman’s paranoia has suggested that Draco may wish to steal the artifact for himself, as it’s supposed to be a gorgeous example of the work of the time, and who wouldn’t want a pewter dildo? Draco is, however, as noted, the leading expert on this particular art form, and Mr. Handelman only hires the best; hence his dilemma.

Draco had been offended for about two minutes when Harry had explained the issue, and then had laughed himself hoarse and said only, “Well, I can’t imagine you’re any worse of a traveling companion than Pansy,” and they’d gotten on with their travel plans.

So, here they are, walking into this rustic motel that has a surprisingly-crowded parking lot to register for a couple of rooms. Harry’s got a couple of paperbacks and a new book of Sudoku puzzles (Will Shortz is a fucking genius and Harry will fight anyone who argues him on this), and he’s thinking it’s going to be an easy couple of days. Draco’s assured him he’s not looking to steal the pewter dildo, and oddly enough, Harry believes him.

They make their way up to the desk, and the clerk, an older woman with deep purple hair, says, “What name’s the reservation under?”

Harry and Draco exchange glances and then Harry says, “Err, we don’t have a reservation.”

The lady’s eyes widen and she makes an actual _tsk-tsk-tsk_. “No reservation. Oh dear.”

“Is that an issue?” Harry asks. “We were told that it wasn’t normally a problem to get a room.”

“Well, _normally_ it’s not,” the woman agrees, typing away on her computer, “But this weeked is the Pumpkin Festival. It’s the biggest autumn event for 60 miles, so everything thing’s been booked for months. People come from the city for this.”

“People come from Boston for a Pumpkin Festival?” Draco asks dryly, and Harry nudges him in the ribs.

“Oh, well, I don’t know about Boston,” the woman says doubtfully, eyeing them over the counter. “But Montpelier. Burlington. Sure they do.”

“Sounds great,” Draco says flatly and Harry elbows him again, a little harder. “What?” he hisses back and Harry makes a face at him.

“Don’t be rude, Malfoy,” he mutters under his breath and turns back to the woman, reading her name off of the badge on her rather formidable bosom. “So, I’m sorry, Collette, are you saying you don’t have any rooms?”

She hums for a moment and then her gaze brightens. “Oh, you are in luck. Apparently we had a cancellation this morning. We’ve got a room in the Annex.”

“Just one?” Draco inquires and she looks at him over her glasses.

“Just the one, young man, though that shouldn’t be a problem for you two, should it?” She misinterprets Draco’s expression and says firmly, “Don’t be alarmed, this is Vermont. Civil unions have been legal since 2000.”

“Er, no. I mean. That is...” Draco’s voice trails off and he gives Harry a helpless look.

Harry sighs. As much as he’s enjoying Draco’s floundering, he’s also a bit tired, and wants to freshen up before dinner.

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” he says. “We’ll take it.”

Collette nods, collects the necessary information, and five minutes later, they’re making their way down a lantern-lit stone pathway to the Annex building. It’s unnervingly quiet, given that the hotel is booked solid, and, as it’s late October in Northern Vermont, it’s cold and already pitch-dark at 5:00 in the afternoon. The Annex is a renovated barn with a large balcony added for the exterior access to the rooms, and they make their way up onto the second floor to locate their room, 225. Draco wiggles the key in the lock and they enter the room in silence, Draco flipping on the inadequate wall sconces.

They gaze around the room and Harry has to admit, he’s pleasantly surprised. It’s spacious, with large glass sliders that open onto a miniscule balcony that apparently overlooks a lake. The room is decorated in country chic, and there are a few too many insipid watercolors of irises on the walls, but that’s about all he can find fault with. There is, however, one large and glaring problem.

There’s only one bed.

There’s only one bed and it doesn’t even look like a proper American monstrosity, it looks to be about the size of Harry’s Hogwarts four-poster, with decidedly more patchwork quilt and fewer velvet hangings. Harry would think about transfiguring the couch into something comfortable to sleep on but 1. There isn’t one, and 2. They’ve been warned about doing any big magic. He’s pants at transfiguration anyway.

“Err,” Harry says uncertainly, dropping his leather carryall onto the floor. “Um.”

“Yeah.” Draco sighs. “She said everything around is booked. But this is fine, Potter. It’s not a big deal. We both went to boarding school. It’s _fine.”_

Harry is pretty sure it’s not entirely fine, but he’s also pretty sure that he’s going to pass out sooner rather than later, and he’d prefer that to happen in an appropriate place, rather than, say, on the way to dinner.

“I’m going to take a shower, wash the travel off. You want to take one?”

Draco shakes his head. “I’ll take one after dinner, go ahead.”

Feeling awkward, Harry takes all his things into the bathroom with him. Luckily, there seems to be no shortage of hot water and the pressure is good, so he emerges feeling somewhat more human. He’s always suffered from portkey lag and can’t help feeling just a bit resentful that Draco Malfoy is out there, just swanning around looking gorgeous after the day they’ve had.

So yeah, there’s that.

After the war, Ginny had gently let Harry down, and taken up with Pansy Parkinson of all people, hence the overlapping of Harry’s social circle with Draco’s, and had encouraged him to go do some… exploration. Get to know himself. Figure it out. So Harry had gone to Italy and done just that. It’s been a while since Harry’s had a serious boyfriend. It’s actually been a while since he’s had even a casual hook up, and Harry has to admit that over the last several months, he’s become increasingly aware that Draco Malfoy has grown into his looks.

Draco is just a bit taller than Harry, all long legs and elegant clothes. He’s kept his hair short in some trendy style that’s shaved on the sides and longer on top. He’s still angular, but more chiseled than pointy these days, and Harry can’t help but notice that he fills out his trousers quite nicely. He’s probably been doing squats.

Harry throws on some casual clothes, and makes his way out of the bathroom to grab his keys.

“Shall we go get some dinner? I’m pretty tired,” he admits, and is relieved when Draco sets down the folder he’s been rifling through and stands up to grab his coat. Harry takes a moment to stash the Chinese bronze penis in its velvet-lined box in the hotel safe and Draco snickers when Harry refuses to tell him the combination.

They stop by the front office, where Collette directs them to north to the Parker Pie, a pizza place that has tacos on Tuesdays, which they’ve missed, and live music on Thursdays, which, sadly, they haven’t.

It’s a local band doing a heroic impression of the Grateful Dead, but the beer is cheap and they split something called the Malibu Barbie pizza and Harry is pretty sure he could die a happy man as they head back to the car. It’s about a half-hour drive back to the motel on country roads and Harry can’t quite believe how many stars are in the sky.

He comments as such to Draco, who shrugs, looking sleepy and cuter than any man should, leaning his head against the window as he stares out into the dark.

“It’s amazing, you don’t realize how much light pollution there is in London.”

They pull into the parking lot and find a space. It’s not that late, but Harry yawns, thinking of the time difference, as they make their way back to the annex and up the stairs. They head into the room and the one mid-sized bed lurks menacingly in the middle of the room as Harry flips on the lights.

He and Draco look at each other for a moment, and then Draco coughs and says, “Do you want to get ready for bed before I shower?” and Harry nods in relief.

When he gets out of the bathroom, Draco heads in, and Harry observes the bed for a moment before shaking his head. He grabs his usual side (the right), and rolls over to flip on the bedside lamp on the left side, before settling in, and finally, _finally,_ letting sleep claim him.

It’s early when Harry swims upwards to consciousness. It’s still dark, and Harry wakes feeling totally disoriented to time, place, and the person in the fucking bed with him, until he remembers. Yes, that’s right. Vermont. Draco. Mr. Handelman’s dildo. It comes back to him as he realizes that during the night, Draco has shifted towards the center of the bed and has one arm draped around Harry, who is lying curled up with his back to the other man. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d almost say they were spooning, but that would be ridiculous. He eases his way out from under Draco’s arm and makes his way to the bathroom, and if he has a quick wank in the shower, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

By the time they get to Mr. Willette’s farm, Harry has managed to convince himself that this morning’s situation was an aberration, and he’s definitely not attracted to Draco Malfoy at all. You can _totally_ acknowledge that a person is, objectively, _attractive,_ Harry assures himself, without being _attracted to them._ Without wanting to pull them into the shower and. Or roll them onto their back on the super-comfortable but not-at-all-spacious bed and. Or anything like that.

He’s having trouble remembering this, however, as he watches Draco work. Draco’s got something of the mad scientist about him as he flips through his pages of notes, and then pulls on goggles and begins to cast. There are bright lights and interesting smells and just a tiny little bit of fire that Draco hastily extinguishes and Harry doesn’t get any of his Sudoku done at all.

Finally, Draco shoves the goggles up onto his forehead and looks at Harry.

“Okay,” he says with a grin, “I think that’s it. Mr. Handelman’s going to be thrilled. Not only can I definitely authenticate this to the early 1800s, I can say with about 85% certainty that this was designed by Ernest Ballard, who’s a well-known artist from that era, who just happened to live about 35 kilometers from here.” His smile is open and completely infectious, and Harry can’t help but smile back at him. “This is a real find, Harry.”

“Oh, well,” Harry coughs, inappropriately amused at the idea of a dildo artist, “That’s great, Draco. Good for you.”

They smile at each other for a moment longer and then Draco turns as Mr. Willette comes into the room. The exchange is made with all the gravitas warranted for such a momentous occasion, and then Harry and Draco head back to the motel, with Harry clutching the small, velvet-lined case that holds the pewter dildo.

“It’s early,” Draco says. “What do you think? You want to hang here? Go out?”

Harry shrugs. It’s just, it’s been a bit of strain today, watching Draco waving his wand in well-fitted wool trousers, and he thinks it’s probably for the best that they don’t spend the evening alone together in the room. He’s never really figured out the whole impulse-control thing, and the... urge to kiss Draco is just getting stronger. It’s not new, if he’s being honest, but spending so much time together is just making it very difficult to resist.

“Want to go back to that place from last night?” He offers instead of a passionate kiss. “They’ve got oysters.”

Draco frowns. “Potter, we’re _hours_ from the ocean. I really don’t think oysters are a good idea.”

Harry concedes this with a shrug and says, “But we could get that buffalo chicken pizza. C’mon Draco, it’s so… American.”

So that’s what they do, have spicy pizza and local ale and Harry is pleasantly tipsy as the evening winds to a close. Draco offers to drive, and Harry frowns, trying to figure out what is off about this scenario, and then it hits him.

“Do you even have a license?”

“A what?” Draco offers a matching frown. “What the fuck are you talking about, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he stares. “A driver’s license, Draco. That thing that says you’re actually qualified to drive?”

Draco holds his stare for several beats and then laughs, long and lough. “Holy fuck, you should see your face. Yes, Potter, I know what a driver’s license is, and yes, I do actually possess one.”

As Harry follows him to the car, something else occurs to him and he complains, “Wait just a fucking minute. If you’ve had a license this whole time, why the fuck have I been doing all the driving?”

Draco grins at Harry over the top of the car and suddenly Harry is breathless and achingly hard in his denims. “Because I didn't want to drive, Harry.” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I worry about you sometimes.”

Harry rolls his eyes back just as hard, and manages to say, “Whatever. Excuse me for being a trusting soul and anyway. Fuck you. Take me home, then, Draco. I’m tired,” and thinks he hears Draco murmur as he slips into the driver’s seat, _Are you?_

When they get back to the room, it’s still early but feels later somehow, since it’s so dark, and the Vermont countryside is so, so quiet as they wander from the car to the their room. Harry notices how Draco seems to brush up against him, but can’t find the words to ask what he’s really thinking. As they enter the room, Harry sees that the bed has been made up and he longs to grab Draco and wrestle him down to muss up the perfectly smooth linens.

Instead, he just nods as Draco says, “Hey, I’m going to grab a quick shower, okay?” and resolutely does not spend the entire time Draco’s in the shower imagining him hot, wet, and naked. When Draco emerges from the steamy bathroom with only a towel wrapped low around his hips, using another to dry his hair, Harry has to actively stifle the undignified groan he can feel brewing in his chest.

He covers his lust with, “I hope you didn’t use all the towels, Malfoy,” and Draco throws him an odd look.

“There are plenty of towels, Potter. Don’t you worry.”

There are, it turns out, plenty of towels, including one on the back of the toilet that’s been inexplicably folded to resemble a penis.

Harry showers, heroically avoids jerking off to the thought of Malfoy in those goggles, and brushes his teeth as he examines himself in the mirror and ponders shaving, but decides against. That might look obvious. He pulls on his flannel sleep pants and t-shirt, and wanders back into the room, flipping off the bathroom light as he does so.

“Interesting towel art in the bathroom,” he comments as he rummages in his case for his book. “I wouldn’t have pegged this place as a towel origami kind of establishment.”

Draco doesn’t look up from where he’s sitting propped up on the bed, making notes and — merciful mother of Merlin, he’s wearing glasses, classic horn-rimmed tortoise shell glasses that make him look like a professor at Oxford or some such place — and only comments, “Oh, it isn’t. That was mine.”

Harry nods. “I’d wondered how they’d chosen something so appropriate to your profession.” He props up the pillows on his side of the bed and sits down, arranging himself comfortably. “How did you get into that particular line of work anyway.”

Draco looks up and all of a sudden, Harry can’t quite breathe as he takes in Draco’s raised eyebrow and cocky grin. “Well, Potter, they say being able to work with the things you love is a great blessing in life.”

Harry nods again seriously as Draco returns to his work and the moment passes. He’s glad he’s sobered up, as his self-control, shaky at best, might not be able to resist a rumpled and bespectacled Draco Malfoy in a bed right next to him.

Draco set his work aside and flips on the television, which apparently only gets three stations, one of which is the French speaking channel from Canada, and Harry happily dives into his book to the sound of the laugh track from whatever sitcom Draco is watching. When they snuggle down for sleep an hour or so later, Harry thinks wistfully that this is rather nice.

He wakes to pitch darkness, absolute silence, and freezing cold. Not even the clock on the bedside table is lit up. Collette had mentioned that sometimes the power could be a little funny, “But the generator will kick in sooner or later, so don’t panic, boys.” This, however, is not the part of the situation that concerns him. What concerns him is that during the night, he and Draco have migrated through the no-man’s-land in the middle of the bed, and he, Harry Potter, is now wrapped around Draco Malfoy like an octopus. And what’s worse, Harry has the strong suspicion that the snuggling has... activated him, so to speak, because he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been this hard in a long time.

Thoughts racing, he tries to strategize how to get out of this situation. It’s fucking cold in the room, so he _really_ doesn’t want to get out of bed and go hide in the bathroom, but pressing his erection into Draco’s admittedly curvaceous, but sound asleep, bum is totally creepy, he knows, and he wills himself to stop doing it immediately. He shifts, planning to turn over so that at least they’ll be bum-to-bum rather than what they are now, which is… awkward. He starts to move, and then freezes because Draco’s hand, which is lying on top of his own which is wrapped around Draco’s firm chest, tightens, holding him in place before he can roll away.

And then he realizes with a burst of relief and a silent groan, that he’s not the only one awake here, as Draco pushes back against him with intent. Harry’s heart starts to race.

“Draco,” he whispers, “What are you doing?”

Draco shifts his hips again and whispers back, “What does it feel like I’m doing?”

 _Making me crazy,_ Harry thinks and whispers, “It feels like you might be… starting something. Am I right?”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Draco whispers as he presses back again, and the groan Harry’s been holding in, slips out.

Harry is shocked out how rough he sounds in the early-morning stillness of the room, and then Draco takes his hand and slowly moves it, not off of him, but _down._ Draco shudders as Harry wraps his hand around Draco’s cock, feeling the thick line of it through his cotton sleep pants.

He traces his thumb over the tip and whispers, “What do you want?”

There’s something about the quiet and dark that feels shockingly intimate, and he doesn’t want to break this fragile moment between them with too much talking, but he has to know that Draco wants this.

Draco wraps his own hand around Harry’s on his cock and whispers, “Let’s see where it takes us. Is that okay?”

Harry nods into Draco’s back and lets his fingers tighten around Draco, and for several moments, they move together, and it feels so fucking good, to be pressed up against another man like this that Harry lets himself yearn, just for a moment.

Suddenly, Draco groans and moves, dislodging Harry’s hand from his dick. He rolls onto his back and sits up, yanking off his shirt in one fluid move, and tugs at Harry’s shirt. “Off, take this off,” he whispers, and Harry can’t see his face in the dark, but he can hear something in Draco’s voice that has him hurriedly stripping off his own shirt and tossing it aside, and then he yanks Draco down, so they’re chest-to-chest, cock-to-cock under the blankets, and their mouths meet.

As first kisses go, it’s pretty great, Harry thinks. It’s not gentle or tender, but then he’s not sure they have that in them, do they? It’s hot and wet and open-mouthed immediately. Harry hears one of them moan, and he’s not even sure who is it. Draco slots in between Harry’s thighs like he was made just for this, and they’re pressed together all down the length of their bodies and it’s fucking glorious.

Harry runs his hands over Draco’s back, feeling the muscles shift and tighten under his fingers. He slides his hands lower to cup Draco’s arse, pulling him even closer, and Draco hisses as their cloth-covered erections slide against one another. Draco begins kissing his way across Harry’s jaw and down his collar bones, murmuring as he moves.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good. Jesus, Potter.” Draco rests his weight on Harry’s chest and slides his hands down to wrap them around Harry’s legs. “Your fucking thighs.”

Draco squeezes and Harry can’t help the way his pelvis rocks up, and they moan together, loud in the dark.

Harry hooks his thumbs under the elastic waistband of Draco’s pajama pants and gives a gentle tug. “Maybe…” he whispers hoarsely, “Maybe these can go too?”

Draco gives an affirmative hum and they both manage to wiggle out of their pants, kicking them down out of the way, and then they’re just skin-to-skin, head-to-toe, and Harry could cry with how amazing it feels. The cool air of the room contrasts with the heat under the blankets, and Harry is so hard he aches with, but he’s not in a rush. Not yet. He traces his hands over Draco’s body, getting to know the bunch and play of his muscles as they grind together, tilting his head back as Draco mouths his way across Harry’s neck to that spot under his jaw that makes him hiss and writhe just a little.

“That good?” Draco murmurs and Harry moans his affirmation.

“Fuck, yeah. That’s really good.”

Then, Draco pulls back and says quietly, “Can I suck you, Potter?”

Harry feels his eyes widen. He could come just like this, he knows. In part, it’s been a while, but mainly it’s just Draco.

“Uh, yeah,” he coughs. “I mean, I have to warn you, I don’t think I’m going to last too long. But if you want to…”

“Oh,” Harry can hear the laughter in Draco’s voice, “I want to.”

And he slips under the covers and gets to work, making his way down Harry’s body, pausing to lave his tongue over one of Harry’s nipples while he rolls the other one between his fingers, and Harry arches up into the touch, crying out. There’s something so incredibly arousing about not being able to see what’s happening. Harry just has to lie back and feel. And feel he does.

Draco is now down between his legs, and Harry can feel his warm breath on his hip as Draco pauses and takes Harry in hand.

“Ahh, fuck, that’s…” Harry’s voice cuts off with a strangled moan as Draco’s mouth closes over the tip of his cock and he knows he’s not going to be able to hold off much longer.

He fights to hold still and not thrust up into Draco’s mouth, letting him control the pace and tempo of what he’s doing. Draco’s tongue swirls around the sensitive tip, and his hand moves to cover what he can’t take into his mouth, and it’s hot and wet and fucking perfect and all too soon, Harry feels that white-hot lightning sparking through his body.

“Malf— Draco, fuck, _Draco,”_ he calls out, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna…”

Draco’s suction increases and he manages to convey a “have at it” sort of intention with a friendly tap on Harry’s hip, so Harry lets himself go, curling up onto his elbows with the force of his orgasm as he comes.

After several long moments, Harry collapses back onto the pillows as Draco releases him with a gentle pat and a tender kiss to the tip of his dick, and makes his way back up, popping out from under the covers looking sweaty and disheveled and so gorgeous that Harry has to grab him and kiss him thoroughly, savoring the taste of his own come on Draco’s lips.

“Good?” Draco asks, and Harry realizes that some time during this, the power has come back on, because he can see the gleam in Draco’s eye and the lift of his eyebrow in the light from the electronics on the bedside table.

He nods and grins, shoving the blankets down now that the room has returned to a more reasonable temperature.

“Any chance I could return the favor?” he asks casually, pushing Draco over onto his back.

“Well,” Draco says, going willingly where Harry has settled him, “I wouldn’t say no, if you’re so inclined.”

Their eyes meet and hold, and then Harry rolls over and slides down.

“You’re so fucking fit,” he murmurs as he works his way down Draco’s abs to nibble along his iliac crest. He listens to the sounds he’s pulling from Draco as he goes, making note of the kinds of touch that have Draco writhing and crying out. He takes a deep breath in, the scent of sex and sweat and shower gel filling his nose as he nuzzles at the tender skin of Draco’s groin.

“Fuck,” seems to be about all that Draco can say and Harry takes another deep breath and sucks him down.

He pulls out all the stops, wanting to make this good for Draco, wanting him to feel desired and maybe even cherished a bit, wanting him to want to do this again sometime. He sucks, licks, swirls his tongue around the sensitive tip of Draco’s cock. He relaxes his throat, presses down on Draco’s hip to keep him still and then pulls Draco all the way in, swallowing around him.

“I’m, fuck…” Draco sounds wrecked, one arm thrown over his eyes as he holds himself still, muscles tense and quivering as Harry works him over, “Fuck, you’re making me...I’m going to… Merlin, Harry, I’m coming, _I’m coming.”_

Harry stills his movements as his mouth is flooded with the salty bitterness of Draco’s release. He’s never been a huge fan of swallowing, but something about this moment, giving this to Draco, sets his insides alight and feels so intimate. He makes his way back up Draco’s body to collapse onto the pillows next to him, and smiles to himself as Draco curls around him, pulling Harry down onto his chest and carding his fingers absently though Harry’s hair.

The silence of the room is broken by their gasping breaths as they both start to calm down from their respective orgasms.

Finally, Draco says, “Well. That was.” He coughs as if he can’t quite figure out the words, and Harry lifts his head, delighted to see the normally calm, cool, and collected Malfoy a bit disheveled and flustered.

“Yeah,” he says, a grin stretching his face in spite of himself, “I thought that was fantastic.”

Draco cuffs him gently upside the head and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “Yes, fine. It was amazing.”

“And,” Harry says, his heart pounding in his chest, “I’m very much hoping that it wasn’t a one-off. I mean, if that’s what you want, of course. But, I’d really like to keep doing this. And maybe other things too.”

Draco frowns. “Other things? What kinds of other things?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Things like. Dinner. Breakfast. Walks on Sunday. Hanging out with friends. Maybe going to the cinema. Or a show.”

“Hmm.” Draco looks thoughtful. “What about the opera? Would you go the opera with me?”

Harry can’t help the small twist of displeasure he feels but says gamely, “I mean, sure. I guess. I don’t really know much about opera. Why, do you like it? Is that something you’d like to do?”

Draco snorts and starts to laugh. “I fucking hate the opera, Harry. I was just wondering how far gone you were, because what you’re describing…” His voice softens and he looks almost nervous. “It sounds a lot like dating.”

“Now you’re catching on,” Harry smiles and lets his head drop down onto Draco’s chest, where he can hear the steady beat of his heart. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Draco smooths one hand down Harry’s back and comes to rest it on the curve of his bum and Harry feels his cock give a valiant twitch. “Sometimes dating involves other things, like the kinds of things we just did. Might there be more of that?”

“Well,” Harry says breathlessly as Draco’s hand dips lower, “You’re going to have to give me ten minutes or so, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Oh, really?” Draco murmurs and then rolls them both over so that Harry’s flat on on his back. Draco braces himself over Harry and then gives a wicked grin. “I wager you could cut that time in half.” He slides down Harry’s body to rest his chin on Harry’s stomach. “What do you think?”

As Draco slides his mouth over Harry’s cock, teasing him back to life, Harry laughs and threads his fingers through Draco’s hair.

“What do I get if you win the wager?”

Draco looks up, a wicked grin on his face and then licks a hot stripe up Harry’s cock. Harry can’t help but groan and shift. And just before Draco’s mouth closes over him again, he says,

“Me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr! If you enjoyed this, the rest of my stuff can be found here!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I would love it if you left a kudos or a comment, they all make my day brighter and inspire me to write more!
> 
> Here is the [rebloggable Tumblr post](https://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/172696693903/two-men-one-bed-a-power-outage-what-will) as well!


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